Classic Revenge (5 page)

It seemed as though Trish had just closed her eyes
when the telephone rang. Rolling over, eyes still glued
shut, she reached for the bedside phone. "Hello," she
mumbled sleepily.

"Trish, it's Millie. Edna just called. Sam's home and
Claire just left to go back over there. I'll meet you out
front in five minutes."

"What do you mean, you'll meet me out front? What
time is it?"

"It's eleven o'clock. Just throw on a robe and hurry
up. Claire said she'd have coffee ready."

Great, Trish thought, trying to force her eyes open,
just what I need. More coffee. "Why are we going over
there tonight? Shouldn't we wait until morning?"

"According to Edna, Sam's packing up a few things
and going over to his sister's tonight," Millie said impatiently.

"And we can't visit him at his sister's house tomorrow because ... ?"

"We're going to see him tonight," Millie snapped
before she abruptly hung up, leaving Trish to stare at
the phone in her hand. "Oh, that's why," she muttered
sarcastically.

Fifteen minutes later they were all seated around
Sam's kitchen table, fresh coffee in front of them. Joe
sat beside Edna, his arm braced casually against the
back of her chair. Even though he had been at the jail
most of the evening waiting for Sam to be processed and
released, he looked fresh and alert. Maybe there was
something to be said for regular exercise, after all, Trish
thought to herself, as she tried to stifle another yawn.

The bright, cheerful atmosphere was in stark contrast to the mood in the room. Sam looked dangerously
close to collapse, his eyes sunken with dark shadows
around them. His jeans and polo shirt, obviously worn
all day, were rumpled and his face showed the gray
stubble of a full day's beard. He was holding onto his
cup with both hands, nervously running his fingers over
the rim. Claire was trying too hard to appear positive
and confident as she flitted around the table in her cotton robe and slippers, pouring coffee and setting out
sugar and creamer.

She started babbling something about the weather
when Sam reached out and gently placed a hand on her
arm. "Claire, sit down," he said softly. Swallowing, she
did as he asked, but not before Trish noticed her eyes
filling up with tears.

"First of all," Sam said into the silence, his eyes focused on his coffee cup, "I want to thank you all for showing your support for me, and for taking care of
Claire during this ... difficult time." He cleared his
throat, then suddenly looked up, his eyes burning with
indignation. "I did not kill my wife."

"Of course you didn't," Millie said firmly, breaking
into the stunned silence. She looked like a Christmas
tree that had definitely seen better days with her dark
green robe, red tennis shoes, and a red bandana tied
over her hair. "We wouldn't be here if we thought you
were capable of such a thing."

"We don't know exactly why the police believe you
are guilty," Joe said, his voice calm and reassuring. He
had a way of soothing troubled waters with his anythingis-possible attitude. When he spoke, people generally
listened, one important reason he had been such a successful stockbroker. "George Mueller is going to get all
the information he can today. When we know what we're
dealing with, we'll know how to fight it."

"Joe, I don't know how to thank you for all you've
done," Sam said, his voice gruff with emotion. "I'll reimburse the fifteen thousand you put up for my bond tomorrow morning."

Joe shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You just
get some rest. I know that sounds impossible under the
circumstances, but if you wear yourself down you won't
be able to help the attorney strategize. This could be a
very long, drawn-out process."

Sam cleared his throat and nodded. "You're right, of
course. I'm going to spend the next couple of days
over at Shelley's. You all have her number, right?"
Everyone around the table nodded. Shelley was Sam's
younger sister and was always a welcome member of their get-togethers. She lived just a few blocks down
with her husband and two dogs. "The attorney has the
number too. Joe, I'll call you as soon as I hear from
him, and you can spread any news if you don't mind."

"Of course I will. Claire, I understand you're going
with Sam?"

"Yes. Shelley was kind enough to invite me too."

"Good," Millie said. "We'll get the newspaper and
check the mail every day"

"Thanks, Millie," Sam said. "This is only temporary.
I'm just having some trouble right now ..." Sam's
voice broke off as he struggled with his emotions, but
they all knew what he meant to say.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Sam?"
Edna would move boulders barehanded if Sam asked
her to. Her smile was tender and caring, her eyes full of
compassion.

"No, but thank you. You've all done more than
enough. I think Claire and I will go on over to Shelley's.
You folks go on home and get some sleep. None of us
are spring chickens anymore, you know." That was
twice in one day that Trish had been compared to an old
rooster.

"Speak for yourself, Sam Wiley," Millie said as she
got up to give Sam a hug. "Besides, chickens are idiots."

Everyone said their good-byes and left Sam and Claire
to finish gathering the things they'd need over the next
few days. "It's just so sad," Edna said softly as she walked
beside Joe, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"I know, honey. I know."

The night was clear and cool, one of those beautiful
nights where you felt you could reach out and touch the moon. Millie sighed. "Those two lovebirds are so cute,
aren't they?"

Trish looked at the couple walking in front of them.
Cute usually didn't apply to mature, sixty-five-yearolds, but she had to admit the phrase fit.

"Tom and I used to take long walks in the evenings.
It was so romantic, just us, the stars, and the moon."

"I wish I had known your husband," Trish said quietly. He must have been a saint to put up with Millie. He
had passed away shortly before Trish moved into the
neighborhood, but it was obvious that he'd been a wellloved and well-respected man.

"We had fifty-five years together. I still miss him, you
know. But we'll be together again one day just not
yet," she chuckled. "I still have too much to do."

Grinning, Trish put her arm around Millie and
squeezed her shoulders. "You bet you do. You still
haven't taught me how to crochet."

"I've tried," Millie said wryly, looking up at Trish.
"It's hopeless."

They reached Edna's house first. Joe stopped and
turned to face them. "I'm going on inside. I'll let you
ladies say good night and gossip a bit in private."

"Joe Radcliff," Edna exclaimed, "we do not gossip."

Joe laughed as he turned to walk up his front path.
"Good night."

"Thanks, Joe, for everything," Trish called after him.

"Ditto," Millie said.

Trish raised her eyebrows. "Ditto?" Millie stuck her
nose in the air, in silent reply.

"I just hope Sam can get some sleep tonight," Edna
said. "He looked like he was about to fall on his face."

"Sam's a fighter, but he's been hit with too much at
one time. I'm really worried about him." Millie wrapped
her arms around herself to ward off the chill.

"What time are we going to get started in the morning?" Trish asked with renewed energy. She was worried
about Sam too, and she'd be doggoned if she was going
to sit idly by while a good man was destroyed. Edna and
Millie stared at Trish as though she had lost her mind.
"Look, we already agreed we were going to do everything we could to help Sam, didn't we?" They nodded
slowly, not quite sure where Trish was going with this.
"Fine. Then I think the first thing we need to do is check
out the house while Sam and Claire are gone"

Millie placed one hand on her hip. "And exactly what
do you think we're going to find, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Who knows?" Trish answered, warming to the idea.
"I don't have a clue how to prove an accident, but
maybe if we can realistically recreate what happened,
or if we find something to prove there was no way Sam
could have murdered Susan, then we could share that
information with the attorney. He'll know what to do"

"Trish, I don't think that's a good idea. We should just
wait to see what the attorney finds out. Besides, don't
you think the police have already covered every angle?"

"Of course, I do, Edna," Trish replied sardonically.
"That's why Sam has been charged with murder."

"Oh, I don't know, Edna," Millie said, considering the
idea. "Trish may be on to something. Regardless, what
harm can it do?"

"Joe would kill me if he knew I went snooping in
Sam's house!"

Millie looked at her pointedly. "Do you tell him everything ?"

"Yes, I do!"

Millie rolled her eyes. "Well, suit yourself. Count me
in, Trish."

"Great. How about eight-thirty?"

"And just how are you two planning on getting into
Sam's house?"

"With the gardener's key." Millie said. The previous
year, Sam had spent a fortune landscaping his front and
back yards. It had proven too much for him to care for
on his own, and although Susan loved the gardens, she
hadn't wanted to be tied down to yard work to preserve
the intricate mixture of flowers and shrubs. Hence, they
had hired a professional gardener who came once a
week, just like clockwork, to maintain the magic.

"Last chance, Miss Chicken. Are you going to come
with us, or not?"

Edna looked at Millie and chewed on her bottom lip.
"Oh, all right, I'll join you. I still don't think it's a wise
thing to do, though" She didn't know what she was
going to tell Joe, but she couldn't sit at home while her
friends worked to prove Sam's innocence.

Trish grinned and threw her arm straight out. "All
for one-"

Edna giggled and clasped Trish's outstretched hand.
"And one for all!"

Millie rolled her eyes and slapped at their hands.
"Ditto. Okay, it's settled. We'll meet at Trish's in the
morning. Now, we had better get inside before the neighbors think we're getting ready to streak or something.
Three silver-haired cronies standing outside at midnight
in their robes could cause severe indigestion."

"My hair is not silver," Trish smirked.

"It would be if you stopped putting color on it."

Unfortunately, Trish thought to herself, Millie had a
point.

"Is this legal?" Edna whispered, definitely having
qualms about what they were doing. She was crouched
behind Trish, who was bending down and searching for
the key Sam always left under the big rock by the back
door that led into the garage.

"Got it!" Trish grunted as she pushed herself up.

"Did you hear what I asked?"

"Hush, Edna," Millie said, pushing her glasses up her
nose. "This isn't breaking-and-entering."

"But we don't have permission, either."

"Who do you think is going to file a complaintSam?"

"Millie, you take a lot for granted, you old coot!"
Those were strong words, coming from Edna.

"And you're a chicken!"

"Shh! Would you two stop arguing? Look, the door is
already unlocked!"

"Hmm ... I guess Sam forgot to check it last night.
Oh well, it just makes our job easier. Come on" Pushing her dark sunglasses on top of her head, her effort at
a disguise, Millie went through the door with Edna and
Trish following. Immediately they were enveloped in
complete darkness.

Edna gasped, her nerves clearly already stretched thin.

Trish said, "Millie, open that door again to let in
some light until I get the door to the kitchen open" No
one had thought to bring a flashlight since they would
be doing their snooping in broad daylight.

"What if Sam locked the kitchen door?" Edna asked,
probably praying that he had.

"He didn't," Trish said, pushing the door open. "Come on, She led the way inside the house. She wasn't going
to admit it to Millie, and certainly not to Edna, but there
was a growing unease in the pit of her stomach. She reasoned that it was a natural response, though. They were
alone, uninvited, in a dark, quiet house where a woman
had died recently. Nevertheless, the hair on the back of
her neck stood up, goading her imagination to believe
that evil lurked behind every shadow.

"Shouldn't we turn on some lights, or at least open
some of the blinds to let in more light?" Edna whispered. The morning sunlight struggled in vain to cut
through the barrier of the closed window blinds. There
was just enough light to enhance the feeling of a deserted house breathing sorrow and misfortune.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Millie said. "We
don't want to advertise what we're doing. You know, I
didn't think of this at first, but they may even have police patrolling this area to keep an eye on Sam. And
would you stop whispering, for goodness' sake?"

"Oh," Edna grimaced. "I didn't even know I was."

"You may be right, Millie. Regardless, we don't want
to take a chance on getting caught in here. I think
there's enough light to see by," Trish whispered, peering through the shadows. Then she shook her head.
"Geez," she said in a normal voice. "You've got me doing
it, too.

"It is kind of creepy, isn't it?"

Trish shot her an exasperated look. "Hush, Millie.
We don't need any theatrics right now." They were still
standing in the kitchen, almost huddled together. There
wasn't any sign of their late-night meeting. The cups
must have been washed and put away, the table wiped clean. Claire wouldn't leave a mess, even though she
knew there wasn't anybody who would notice. The
faint smell of lemon oil was achingly familiar.

Trish sighed deeply. She would have to take the lead.
This had been her brainstorm, after all, but that eerie
feeling persisted, making her wonder if maybe her
mouth had overridden her common sense last night. She
couldn't back out now, though. She'd never hear the end
of it. Besides, Sam needed their help.